Deadly Production (Mapleton Mystery Book 4) (13 page)

What if they didn’t want to kill her? What if they wanted her out of the way so they could search her office, but things went wrong?

Too bad there wasn’t an inventory of what
should
have been in Marianna’s office, because Gordon was confident that’s where the missing puzzle pieces had been.

He went back to his office where the coffee maker was gurgling the last of the water into the pot. He poured a mug, found a chocolate bar in his cabinet and brought them both to the war room. Solomon stood in front of the whiteboard.

“That was quick. Finished playing garbage collector?” Gordon asked.

“Yep. It’s all in the hands of the techs now. One of the beautiful things about garbage is that once it’s in that can, you don’t need a warrant.”

“You see anything promising?”

“I doubt it. But it’s another one of those all-or-nothing situations since we don’t know what we’re looking for, so we opted to err on the side of all. On the bright side, pickup day was yesterday, so there wasn’t much, it didn’t stink, and it’ll be easier to tie what we find—if we find anything—to recent activity.” Solomon flipped a chair around and straddled it. “How did the press conference go?”

Gordon filled him in.

“So, in other words, nothing,” Solomon said.

“That’s about it. But I left as soon as I said my piece, so who knows what the mayor said once the questions started flying. I didn’t tell him about Yolanda.”

“I’m sure someone with a scanner picked up on it,” Solomon said.

“Well, McKenna can honestly say he’s unaware of that development. Until our two stand-ins get here, we can go over this again. Maybe a few pieces will fall into place.” He thought for a second. “You said Vicky was fetching them. From where?”

“Evergreen.”

“More leaf peeping?”

“I don’t know. I was picking through garbage.”

Gordon could have called Vicky to confirm their whereabouts, or checked with Dispatch, but until Bart Bergsstrom and Kathy Newberg got here, it didn’t matter much. If it had been critical, someone would have told him. “While we wait, let’s deal with what we have.”

He considered the timeline. “Someone wants something from Marianna’s RV. Rather than confront Marianna while she’s working, he waits until she leaves. Or does he lure her away?”

“What about her cell phone log?” Solomon said. “The techs printed the phone at the scene, so it’s in evidence here, isn’t it?”

“Yes.”

Solomon jumped up and headed to their evidence room. He returned within two minutes, carrying the evidence bag, shaking his head. “Why anyone blings up a phone is beyond me. Serves no useful function.”

“Helped us ID the phone, though.”

“There is that. We didn’t copy the log or anything yet, did we?” Solomon asked.

“No. At the time, all we needed was her emergency contact information. I wonder if the LAPD’s done the death notification yet? You think questioning Avis Fontenot would give us more answers?”

Gordon got up and wrote her name on the whiteboard. He pointed to Isabella’s name. “The makeup manager. We didn’t do a second interview of her yet, did we?”

“No,” Solomon said. “Has everyone gone to the hotel yet?”

“I gave Dawson permission to make arrangements. Since all the trailers are off limits, he might have called the bus in early to take them to the hotel. But we can request a deputy go interview her, since she’s not in Mapleton at the moment, and we’re spread damn thin. Let’s finish going through what we have first.”

Gordon drew a line between Marianna Spellman’s name and Yolanda Orozco’s. “There has to be a connection here, and some answers.”

“You think Yolanda summoned Marianna to the wardrobe RV? Or would Marianna have insisted that any business take place on her turf?”

“Depends on the kind of business,” Gordon said. “And it wouldn’t have to be Yolanda calling her. Anyone could have said there was something important in the wardrobe RV.”

Gordon scrolled through Marianna’s call log and found the three numbers that had been most active, the ones he’d intended to research. He dictated them to Solomon. “Look these up, see who they belong to.”

Solomon scooted over to the one laptop remaining in the room. “On it. I’ll check them against the spreadsheet our civilian patrol volunteer made.”

Gordon searched for text messages again. None in the log, and nothing had come in since they’d found the phone.

“First one’s easy,” Solomon said. “Lionel Dawson’s cell phone. Stands to reason they’d be in touch. What about calls, either in or out, at the beginning of our window for her death?”

Gordon checked the log again. Either Marianna didn’t get many calls or texts—which he doubted—or she had a quick finger on the delete key. “No outgoing. But she had two incoming during the time in question. Neither is one of the main three.” He passed the phone to Solomon. “Are these on your spreadsheet?”

Solomon clicked a few keys. “The first one is. It’s from Ian Patrick. Lasted eleven seconds. The second number’s not on the list.”

“So probably not someone from the shoot.”

While Solomon checked the database, Gordon mulled. Would a call from someone not at the production location have lured Marianna to the wardrobe RV? Probably not. Why had Ian called her? He verified the time of the call. Five fifty-three. Then he studied the timeline on the whiteboard.

“Mai was in the wardrobe RV at approximately oh six-thirty. She said Ian had been there before her, but he wasn’t there when she was.”

Solomon stopped clicking. “So, maybe Ian calls Marianna and they arrange to meet in the trailer later, after Mai is out of there.”

“Or the call is totally unrelated. What do you have on the other numbers?”

Solomon’s cell phone interrupted, and Vicky McDermott poked her head into the room. “Bart Bergsstrom and Kathy Newberg are in the breakroom.”

“Good. Stay with them.”

Solomon put his phone in its clip. “The ER called. Yolanda’s awake.”

After wishing he could clone himself, Gordon sent Solomon to the ER to interview Yolanda, and headed for the breakroom. When Solomon had said the two stand-ins were alive and well—he hadn’t seen them. Alive, yes.
Well
was a relative term. Kathy sat in a chair, hands on her knees, head lowered. She sat up when Gordon entered. Her hair, not quite the vivid red of Lily Beckett’s, hung in a mass of tangles. A square bandage on her forehead didn’t cover all of a rising red and purple bruise, which stood out in stark relief against her pasty-white skin.

“Do you need a doctor?” Gordon asked.

She gave a shaky laugh. “I came from the clinic in Evergreen. They said I needed rest.”

“She could probably use something to eat.” Bart had bruises forming beneath his eyes, but otherwise seemed in decent shape.

Kathy clutched a hand to her belly and shook her head. “I’m not sure that’s a good idea.”

“I can fix a cup of chicken broth,” Vicky said. “It’s instant, but it might help.”

“Please, do. Kath, it’ll be good for you.” The way Bart gazed at Kathy suggested a bit more personal involvement than mere coworkers.

Good police work said you never interviewed people together, so Gordon waited until McDermott got back with the soup and Kathy was sipping it, color returning to her face, before he asked Bart to accompany him. “We’ll be in my office,” he said to Vicky. “Make sure Miss Newberg is comfortable.” He lowered his voice. “And don’t say anything about the case.”

Vicky bobbed her head enough for Gordon to know she understood.

Bart was reluctant to leave. “She’s in good hands,” Gordon assured him. “And this shouldn’t take long.” He escorted Bart to his office, motioned him to take a seat. “Before we start, can I get you anything? Coffee? Tea? Water? Soft drink? Or would you like soup as well?”

Bart touched his face, as if testing the pain level around his bruises. He shook his head. “I’m fine. Why are we here? Your officer didn’t say anything on the drive other than there would be some questions.” He tried for a laugh. “I know Mr. Dawson’s upset we missed our call, but he wouldn’t have called the cops on us.”

“No, Mr. Dawson isn’t the reason you’re here.” Gordon took the pocket recorder from his desk drawer. “I’ll be recording this conversation. Merely a formality.” He recited the requisite information and set the recorder on the desk between them.

Bart eyed the machine. “Do I need a lawyer?”

“I don’t see why. This is routine. We’ve talked to everyone involved in the filming.”

“About what?” Bart fidgeted in his chair and craned his neck toward the door. “Mr. Dawson chewed us out for not being on the set, but I can explain.”

“That’s great. Why don’t you start with why you weren’t on the bus this morning?”

Bart hung his head. “We—me and Kath—weren’t at the hotel last night. We were at a place in Evergreen—belongs to a friend of mine, and we thought it would afford us a little private time. We flew in two days ago and were staying there. It’s not like the company does bed-checks, or cares about much other than you being where you need to be for calls. We were on time for all the Aspen Lake shots.”

“But you weren’t here this morning.”

“No. We were on our way. Kath was driving, I was trying to text my friend we were out of the cabin. The road curved, and the sunrise coming through the windshield must have blinded Kath for a minute. She took the curve too fast, swerved, and we dinged an oncoming car.” Bart cursed under his breath. “He was on the wrong side of the double yellow. It wasn’t Kath’s fault. But she’s the one who ended up at the clinic.”

“You weren’t injured?” Gordon said. “What about the other guy?”

“They said he was all right. I had my seatbelt on, so for me, it’s mostly airbag aftermath. Shook up a little, and I’ll probably have a stiff neck in the morning, but overall, I’m fine.”

“And you didn’t bother to call in when you realized you were going to miss the shoot time?”

“The docs checked me out. No cell phone calls allowed in the ER, and to be honest, I was more worried about Kath than the movie. I’m a stand-in, for God’s sake. They could find someone else the right height, or have Cassidy Clarke himself see what it’s like to stand around while they set lights and camera positions. It’s even more boring than being an extra.”

“So why do you do it?” Gordon asked.

“It pays the bills. And someday, I’ll get my break and it’ll be my name on the opening credits.”

“I wish you the best.” From everything Bart had said, he and Kathy Newberg weren’t around when Marianna had died. And, judging from the way Bart had seemed clueless as to why they were being interviewed, he probably hadn’t heard yet. But, to be thorough, Gordon had to pursue that line of questioning.

“Did you speak with Marianna Spellman this morning?” he asked.

Bart frowned. “No. What does she have to do with this?”

“I’m sorry, but Miss Spellman was found dead in one of the trailers this morning.” He watched Bart’s reaction.

The man’s mouth dropped, his eyes widened. His hands flew to his mouth. His fingers trembled. “Dead? How?”

All in all, a believable display of shock.

“That’s what we’re trying to determine. Are you aware of any health issues she had? Any medications she was taking?”

Bart took a deep breath, then another. He met Gordon’s gaze. “No. I saw her a couple of times while we were at Aspen Lake, but we didn’t interact much. Hellos, nice weather, aren’t the leaves gorgeous type stuff.” He paused, like so many people Gordon had interviewed, as the possible implications sunk in. Indignation colored his tone. “You can’t think I had anything to do with her death. I told you, we weren’t even here. And there will be medical records to show where we were.”

“We’ll confirm that. But no, Mr. Bergsstrom, I don’t think you were responsible for Miss Spellman’s death. Right now, we’re still trying to determine how she died, so any information we can gather helps us. Who her close friends were, who might be able to tell us about her lifestyle, where she’s been, what she’d been doing when she wasn’t on the set. The more pieces of the puzzle we have, the faster we can see the whole picture.”

Bart narrowed his eyes. “Are you implying there’s a chance she was murdered?”

“A chance, yes. But there’s also a chance it was an unfortunate accident. Or maybe suicide. That’s why knowing her health history, both physical and mental, can help.”

“I’ve never worked with her before this picture, so I’m afraid I’m not much good to you there.” He turned his head toward the door again. “Can I go now?”

Gordon completed the ritual of recording the end of the interview and handing Bart a business card. “You’re free to go. If you want to wait around, I’ll have an officer drive you and Miss Newberg to Daily Bread, or to your hotel if necessary.”

“You’re going to question her, too? She should be resting.”

“I’ll be brief, I promise.” Gordon smiled as he opened the door. He walked Bart to the breakroom and left him with Vicky. Kathy seemed steady on her feet as they walked to his office, but he stuck close in case she needed a supporting arm. She sank into the chair he pulled out for her.

“Are you all right, Miss Newberg?” Gordon asked.

“Not really. I’m so sorry.” She folded her arms onto the desk, dropped her head, and burst into tears.

Damn. Gordon grabbed the phone on his desk and buzzed the breakroom. “Bring me some water,” he said when McDermott answered. “Oh, and a box of tissues.” He didn’t do weepy women well. At all. So he waited.

When McDermott came in carrying the requested items, she took one look at the sobbing Kathy Newberg and stepped to her side, placing the water and tissues on the desk and laying a hand on the woman’s back. “It’s all right.” She opened the water bottle and nudged it closer to Kathy.

After what seemed an eternity to Gordon, Kathy’s sobs subsided to mere sniffles. She grabbed a tissue and wiped her eyes.

“It’s an after effect of the accident,” McDermott said, handing her another tissue.

Kathy blew her nose—gently and ladylike—and balled the tissues in her hand.

“I’ll take care of those,” McDermott said. She took the tissues carefully between two fingers. When she left the office with it instead of using the wastebasket under Gordon’s desk, he knew she was going to save it, in case it came down to DNA. Which it likely wouldn’t, but at least they’d have a sample to test in case it did. When Kathy picked up the water bottle and drank, he knew they’d have her fingerprints, too.

But why bother? It was obvious they hadn’t been anywhere near the studio lot today.

Because the damn jurors will ask why we didn’t collect it if anything goes to trial
.

If only the law enforcement budgets could be stretched far enough to hire more lab techs.

Kathy wiped her eyes once again. “I apologize for that breakdown.” She straightened her shoulders and raised her chin. “What do you need to ask me?”

Gordon had her run through the accident. Her version matched Bart’s, although she conveyed more emotion when describing what it had felt like to be blinded and then feel the crunch of impact. “I never saw the car. Honest.”

“I believe you,” Gordon said. And the accident reconstruction team would verify it. “On these mountain roads, it’s a wonder we don’t have more accidents. But I do have a few other questions for you.”

He studied her face when he asked her what her dealings had been with Marianna. Curiosity, but no indications of guilt. He waited for her to ask the inevitable question, which she did.

“Then this is about Marianna? Not me and Bart? Did something happen?”

When he dropped the news, he was afraid she was going to burst into tears again. Her eyes brimmed, but she blinked them away. “I’m sorry. It’s just that … my sister died recently, and when I hear anyone is taken suddenly, it hurts all over again.”

“I’m sorry for your loss,” Gordon said.

She dabbed her eyes again. “Thank you. I mean, I hardly knew Marianna, only met her in conjunction with this picture, but hearing that she was dead brought the pain of my sister's death back.”

“It’s understandable.” He opted to cut this interview short rather than deal with Kathy’s emotional state. But first, he remembered a question he hadn’t asked Bart. As a woman, Kathy might have noticed.

“When you saw Marianna at Aspen Lake, did she have a purse with her?”

Kathy gave a knowing smile. “Did she ever. Always. A black Coach. It was like her office away from the office.”

“Coach?” Gordon said.

“It’s a brand of bag. Very pricey. I can’t see dropping that kind of money on a
purse
, but things like that matter to some people.”

“Thanks. That’s helpful.” He handed her a card and brought her to the breakroom, where Bart jumped from his chair and wrapped her in a tight embrace.

Gordon checked in with Dawson, who said he’d arrange transportation to the hotel for Kathy and Bart. “I’ll have a driver pick them up right away.”

If Dawson was willing, it would save Gordon tying up one of his men. “Thanks.” He left the two actors under Vicky McDermott’s watchful eye and went to the war room, where he drew lines through Bart and Kathy’s names. Next to Ian Patrick’s name, he drew a big question mark and wrote
called MS.